


tell me, boy, now wouldn't that be sweet?

by bisexualbluesargent



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Chairman Election Arc (Hunter X Hunter), Dom/sub Undertones, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29685588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualbluesargent/pseuds/bisexualbluesargent
Summary: Ging cocked his head at him. “You’re so easy.”“Hm,” said Pariston, clucking his tongue, narrowing his eyes.
Relationships: Ging Freecs/Pariston Hill
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	tell me, boy, now wouldn't that be sweet?

**Author's Note:**

> my deepest apologies <3 is this a cry for help or a beautiful epiphany for yours truly? who knows
> 
> lmk if i should put any warnings! title is a lyric from the sweet escape by gwen stefani. aren't all songs pariging songs when u really think about it

Ging knew Pariston was looking over at him from the other sink. He was a smart person, he didn’t need to be told it was so, not these days, and so he knew what Pariston wanted, what he always did. Ging was usually disinterested with this sort of thing, normally would’ve casually left the Hunter Association bathroom with an annoyed sigh, but it was Pariston, and Pariston was sometimes… interesting.

“What a coincidence that we’re both in here right now,” said Ging, rolling his eyes and watching the motion-sensor tap water come to a halt. 

“Sure,” laughed Pariston, smile too wide, eyes too bright, everything about him just slightly off-kilter. In the false light of the bathroom he was reminiscent of a model for an ad for toothpaste or something similar. “You seem like a man who likes a coincidence, Mr. Ging.”

Ging considered him. “Mister,” he repeated, amused. “God, you’re annoying.”

Pariston preened a little, wiping his hands off with a paper towel. “I’ll have you know that many find me quite charming.”

Ging snorted. “I’m sure.” He turned to leave. He knew Pariston would stop him. 

“Aw, not a fan of small talk?” 

Ging turned back to look. Pariston had his hand on the rim of the gleaming sink countertop, leaning back a tiny bit, though his posture was somehow still impeccable. “I haven’t seen you in _such_ a long time and you don’t even want to ask how I’m doing?”

“Not really.” Ging shrugged. “I’m sure you’re doing just fantastic.”

“Do you, now,” said Pariston. “And what about you? Are you doing fantastic?”

Ging was bored. “If you want to fuck, you should say it.”

“Oh, wow, so straightforward!” Pariston laughed heartily, the sound of it stringy enough that Ging knew for sure he had struck something important. “What makes you think I want that?”

Ging cocked his head at him. “You’re so easy.”

“Hm,” said Pariston, clucking his tongue, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” said Ging, grinning. Pariston blinked once, twice, Ging laughing. “I know you’d get on the floor and do whatever I tell you, right now, but I’m not just gonna hand that over to you.” Pariston’s smile twitched. Ging waved his hand around, pleased. “Easy.”

After a few moments, Pariston sighed airily, not answering. Ging scoffed at him. “Meeting’s starting again soon, right?” He didn’t wait for a reply, pushing open the doors to the hallway, air rushing out with him. 

Pariston liked to sit at the head of the table. Ging had sat on his left, thinking it would be funny to rile him up a bit, but the meeting droned on and on, rules and letters and bullshit like that, stuff Ging didn’t see the point in for himself, and he wasn’t coming tomorrow anyway, so. Why bother. Pariston kept politely adding on to everything everyone was saying, his hands making precise movements in the air, his friendly jokes calculated, everything rising action to when someone finally yelled at him. The thing about Pariston was that he didn’t provide one with a lot to be angry about on the surface; if you were a patient, unbothered person who hadn’t heard of him before, you could probably get away with meeting him several times and finding him perfectly pleasant. Ging was not exactly unbothered, but he was certainly patient. 

Ging got up to leave with the rest of the zodiacs before he’d be alone with him. That would be no fun; he wanted Pariston to work for it, somehow. Mizaistom tried to speak to him but was quickly cut off when Beans tugged at Ging’s pant leg. 

“Pariston’s asking for you in his office.” Beans seemed almost tired.

“Of course he is,” sighed Ging, glancing at Mizaistom.

“So typical of you two to plan something behind our back,” the other said. He seemed annoyed. Ging rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” said Beans, pursing his lips.

“See you later, Beans,” said Ging, before this went any further. He heard Mizaistom muttering behind him. So much for anonymity, he supposed.

Pariston’s office was awfully boring in decor. Ging thought it was probably intentional. It wasn’t terrible or affronting to the eyes, sure, but it looked like someone had directly copied a layout from a housekeeping magazine. The books behind his desk were unnoteworthy, the flowers on the side table were dull, and everything was arranged neatly. Pariston smiled in that plastic way of his, legs crossed under his office chair, and it was hilarious, really, how much Ging disliked him and still- well. He’d laugh about it later.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” said Pariston. He was twirling around a pen in between the crooks of his fingers.

“I’m sure people say that to you all the time,” said Ging, standing still because Pariston’s office didn’t have another chair for guests to sit in.

Pariston laughed. “You’re so _funny_.” The air was crackling already, just a bit.

“Hm,” said Ging, hands in his pockets. “Why did you send for me? I mean, I know, but I want to hear you say it.”

“You know?” Pariston pouted. “I just wanted to have a little chat about the election. Maybe we could,” a pause, “come to an agreement.”

Ging cackled at him. “Uh huh. Well, go on.”

Pariston traced the edge of his desk with his finger. “You’ll let me win, won’t you?”

“I’m not _letting_ you do anything.” Ging leaned over the desk now, palms splayed over shining maple wood, Pariston looking up at him with slightly wider eyes. “You and Cheadle are the players of this stupid chess game. I’m just here to watch.”

“You don’t have to just watch,” breathed Pariston, ends of his mouth reaching higher, higher.

Ging pulled him in by his tie. It wasn’t exactly a violent movement, but it wasn’t exactly a nice one, either. “Make me want to.”

Pariston pulled back slowly, his tie sliding out of Ging’s hands, a snake made of expensive silk. He didn’t say anything, smile gone. Ging felt a warm, deep-rooted satisfaction.

Pariston waited a few more moments before saying, “Well?” His tongue darted out to run over his bottom lip, Ging watching him do it.

“Well,” said Ging. 

Pariston stared at him, expression settling into something intense and altogether unnerving. “Finally,” said Ging. “There you are.”

Pariston inhaled deeply, exhaled. His grin came back in the span of a moment. “Ging,” he said amiably. “Tell me-“

“Nah,” said Ging. “I’ll be around for the final vote.”

Pariston sparkled at him. “I look forward to it.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Ging, because he had to have the final word, yeah, he’d look forward to it too, whatever. 

—

“You surprised me,” said Ging flatly, examining Pariston in the low light of the random office room he’d pulled him into, the blinds drawn low, everyone else far away. 

Pariston picked at a stray thread on his blazer, looking up at him with half-narrowed eyes. “Yeah?”

Ging studied the way Pariston’s hair brushed his neck, the buttons at the end of his sleeves, the way his eyelashes settled on his skin with a sharpness that was hard to pinpoint. Ging was not often attracted to people. Sex was like anything else: only on his priorities when it was engaging enough, never for the sake of it. Most people were interesting, yes, all people had layers breathing beneath even more layers, but it was rare that he was confused, intrigued. Pariston was a long game, a far-away trophy. Normally, people could be punched, killed, bribed, but Pariston wanted that, would die happy with it, so he required thought and barbed words and sometimes, sometimes he would give Ging these looks that would get Ging _thinking._ Ging knew it was fucked up, but the world was fucked up. He didn’t really mind this part of it.

Ging raised an eyebrow from where he was sitting on top of the room’s empty, singular desk. “Come on.”

Pariston did, silent and evenly paced, like he wasn’t phased at all, waiting for Ging to pull him into his lap, shuddering all over the minute Ging touched his skin. Ging watched Pariston sigh happily as he tugged at his shirt collar, his blazer sliding down from his shoulders a bit on one side. “God,” said Ging. “You really are desperate.” Pariston whined, quietly frantic, moving his head to Ging’s neck and biting hard.

Ging grunted, appreciative, getting a hand in between them and gripping Pariston’s cock through his pants. “Ging,” said Pariston at last, tongue sloppy and all over Ging’s jaw.

“That’s right,” Ging said, humming as Pariston reached his hands under his shirt, fingers sliding around his chest, brushing against his nipples. Ging cupped Pariston’s jaw with his own hands, curious. Pariston leaned into it, mouth searching for the ends of his fingers. Ging grabbed his jaw tighter instead, Pariston’s eyes gleaming, letting him hold him, letting him feel his bones through his skin pulled tight. 

Ging let him go after a moment. Pariston smiled wider. “I always wonder why you won’t just hit me,” he said, teeth shining in the slivers of light coming from the edges of the office door, suggestive of something worse inside of him, something Ging had always been waiting for. 

Ging scoffed, irritated. “You know I’m smarter than that.”

“Yes,” agreed Pariston, kneeling, a hand running up one of Ging’s thighs, the slide of fabric loud in the still air, “but I wouldn’t really mind if-“

“Oh, no,” said Ging, impassive, “I like a challenge.”

“I know you do,” said Pariston, shutting his eyes for a second, his nen reverberating around them, Ging wanting to mock him, but Pariston was nuzzling his cock through his pants, now, mouthing at him through the fabric. 

Ging pulled at his hair, shoving him closer, Pariston moaning a little. “That better for you?” Ging said, kind of wishing he would look up so he could see his expression without the mask again. “Yeah.” Pariston was pulling down Ging’s pants, freeing his cock from his briefs, Ging watching as he rubbed the end of it over his lips.

“That’s good,” sighed Ging, less analytical and more turned on by now, Pariston looking at him like he wanted more violence but he wasn’t going to _give_ it to him, not just like that. “You’re gonna have to earn it,” he said, when he still wouldn’t look away, and Pariston just whined again, long and shameless, tongue swirling around Ging’s cock, refusing to full-on suck.

“You’re shaking,” noted Ging, starting to move against Pariston’s mouth. 

Pariston’s eyelashes fluttered, tongue pressing against the slit encouragingly. “Get on with it,” said Ging, tugging pointedly at his hair again. 

Pariston lifted his head up, a thin trail of spit coming up with him. “So eager.”

Ging frowned at him. “Don’t project onto me.”

Pariston let out a jagged laugh, rising up to mouth at Ging’s ear, hand whispering at his balls. “What, no blood? No fist fight? C’mon, Ging, _sweetie_ , give me _something.”_ He had his other hand wrapped around Ging’s neck. “Want it to _hurt,”_ he hissed.

Ging sniffed, amused. “Pariston.” He grabbed him by the collar, meeting his delighted expression with a slitted gaze. “Suck my dick already.”

Pariston snickered breathily, kneeling back down to swallow him whole. Ging grabbed a handful of blond hair, holding him in place, fucking his mouth, Pariston groaning as his cock touched the back of his throat. Ging heard a low moan, and then realized it was himself. He wanted to laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, using Pariston, now, Pariston more than pleased to be used. “ _Yeah.”_ He felt hot all over- felt himself reaching the edge-

“ _Ah_ ,” Ging said, Pariston moaning again. “Gonna cum.” Pariston bobbed around his cock, hooded gaze encouraging. “Swallow it.” Pariston closed his eyes. Ging groaned, panting and loud, everything bright and rushing towards him, hips jumping as Pariston purred beneath him, doing what he said, of course, of course.

Ging eventually pulled Pariston up by his hair, considering the flush of his cheeks, his blazer pooling around the ends of his arms, the obvious tent of his well-cut trousers. “Mm,” Pariston crooned. “You taste awful.”

Ging let him go, breath back again. “I’d say we’re done here.”

Pariston licked his lips. “Are we?”

“Yeah,” Ging sighed, getting up and stretching his arms above his head. Pariston was leaning against the desk, all casual, but Ging could tell he was disappointed. A win, really.

“Don’t look so sad,” he said, throwing his head back to laugh at him, at long last. “I’m resigning from the Zodiacs, too. Didn’t I tell you?” Pariston just looked at him. Ging smirked as he leaned over to wipe his sticky hand on the shoulder of Pariston’s button-down. “I thought I'd do something sweet." 


End file.
